


Another Day, Another Dollar

by Rivine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bank Robbery, Chocolate Box Treat, Gen, Reluctant Superheroing, Supervillains, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivine/pseuds/Rivine
Summary: Aphorism's day was going smoothly until the zombies arrived. But where there's a will, there's a way, and he intends to salvage this bank robbery.





	Another Day, Another Dollar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pt_tucker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/gifts).



****“Listen up, morons,” said Aphorism.

The panicking gaggle ignored him. They were rushing toward the counter, trying to climb over it and get out of the lobby. The bank tellers had already started to flee, running as soon as the zombies had ruined Aphorism’s hold-up by thumping into the glass doors.

“They’ll be at the back exit, too,” Aphorism yelled. Anyone should have been able to see by the sheer number of them pressed up against the glass that the building was definitely surrounded. But no, not the people he was stuck here with. They were going to rush for the back door and open it up, so the zombies could come pouring in.

“Speak softly and carry a big stick,” he said, focusing hard on what he wanted.

The screaming took on a note of confusion as the fastest runners saw the slab of wood—as thick as a railroad tie and wide enough to fill the hallway—materialize in front of them.

“We need to go _up_ ,” Aphorism shouted into the chaos, and at last, they started to pay attention to him again. “Go up the stairs, not outside, you idiots.”

“We’ll be trapped,” yelped one of them. “You’re trying to kill us!”

“Seriously? You’d rather be getting eaten out there”—Aphorism gestured at the mass of walking corpses pawing at the windows—“than sitting up there”—he pointed at the ceiling, since it seemed that this crowd needed all the help they could get—“with the stairs barricaded until this shit is over?”

“He’s right!” another of them piped up. “The Amazing Protectors will come for us!”

The important thing was to lower one’s expectations, Aphorism reminded himself. Humanity would always, _always_ disappoint.

“Sure, whatever. The Amazing Hall Monitors will save us. Just _go_.”

While herding them all up the stairs, Aphorism wondered what would happen if the Protectors _did_ show up at this little bank during what was surely a city-wide zombie outbreak. They were the kind of assholes who’d probably slap restraints on him and haul him in, even during a disaster and after he’d saved a bunch of people from their own stupidity.

He’d never used _possession is nine-tenths of the law_ in a courtroom before, and he didn’t know if he could pull it off. It would take a hell of a lot of concentration.

Aphorism made sure his duffle bag full of cash was zipped securely closed before following the last stragglers up the stairs. He was a few steps up when the door hinges creaked ominously from the weight of all the zombies they were holding back, and only halfway when they yielded in a great crash of shattering glass.

“A rising tide lifts all boats!” Aphorism jumped up into the wave of pressure that swept him and the people ahead of him up onto the second floor. He did a quick mental headcount while lying on the floor and gasped, “A stitch in time saves nine,” as soon as he got his breath back.

A giant needle sped through the air at the bottom of the stairs, pulling a steel cable from one side of the staircase to the other at chest height. The zombies slowly stumbled into it and stopped, arms grasping futilely as it held them back.

Aphorism turned to the huddled group. “Is there a fire axe anywhere?”

A few of them had the presence of mind to shake their heads or start frantically searching. One of them just had to be difficult, though.

“Don’t give him an axe! He’s a _supervillain_ , there’s no telling what he’ll do to us.” It was the same troublesome whiner who’d refused to go up the stairs earlier, Aphorism noticed, and, now that he thought about it, was probably the guy who’d been doom and gloom since Aphorism walked into the bank and announced that he was taking all their money.

“I’m not the one who’s going to eat your brains, so shut up and find me something sharp.”

The man clenched his fists. “I don’t believe you. None of us should trust a word you say.”

“Wow. Okay. No one listen to Zombie Chow over here, he’ll get you dead. All of you who have any common sense at all: how about a pocket knife? Anybody have one of those?”

Luckily, one of the more on-the-ball ones dug through her pocket and produced a Swiss Army knife. Aphorism could have come up with another plan, but it might have been pushing it; the wall studs the cable was sewn around were beginning to groan.

“Little strokes fell great oaks,” Aphorism said, while digging the blade of the pocket knife into the carpet at the top of the stairs. He made a few more slashes before the wood underneath parted cleanly and the staircase fell away with a building-shaking thud. As the dust settled, he let the cable disappear.

“Right. Now, all of you just stay put and don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

A few more of them were looking at him with at least a glimmer of attentiveness. Two were still staring vacuously down at the zombies and one was in a corner with his hands over his face, but it was a better ratio than before, so Aphorism decided to take it.

He pulled out his phone. “Bad news travels fast,” he said, and dialed. It only rang once before Captain Death picked up.

“I’m kind of busy, can it wait?” she asked.

“Depends. Are these your zombies?”

“Huh. Where are you?”

“New City Financial, on 21st. But this looks like a widespread thing.”

“Fuck.”

“Not yours, then?”

“No. I can’t believe I’m missing an undead uprising.” Aphorism could hear a television turn on, and the strained voice of a news anchor. “I’ve been knee-deep in this ritual for—well, it doesn’t matter what it’s for. Are the ones by you all slow, or are there any fast ones?”

“All slow. Classic old-school zombie outbreak types.”

“Nice. I’m going to take ‘em. Thanks for the head’s up.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Zombie Chow tried to hit him from behind with a fire extinguisher.

A chorus of gasps and one muffled squeak lost him the element of surprise, however, and Aphorism flinched fast enough to take the blow on his shoulder instead of his head.

While Zombie Chow was trying to get the heavy extinguisher up high enough for another attempt, Aphorism lunged forward and grabbed at his arms. It took a brief struggle before he got a firm enough grip to keep Zombie Chow from taking another swing at him, but that gave Aphorism time to come up with what he needed.

He forced the man’s forearms closer together.

“If you can’t be good, be careful.”

A pair of thick black zip ties appeared around Zombie Chow’s wrists, and with a quick shove during his moment of confusion, Aphorism knocked him to the floor. He pinned his legs and focused, and a matching zip tie bound his ankles.

Aphorism stood up. “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Two Colt Peacemakers settled into his hands and he raised them in demonstration. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it from the start.”

He vanished the revolvers. “I’m going to wait this out on the roof. Everybody except him is welcome to tag along.”

“Fuck you, you—”

“Silence is golden,” said Aphorism, making a gag to cut off the rest of whatever paranoid rant he was building up to.

“We can’t leave him here,” the woman who had the pocket knife said, shakily.

“Why not?”

“We can’t just leave him,” she insisted.

“Look, this kind of zombie is shit at climbing. He’ll be fine,” Aphorism said.

“He might roll off the edge.”

Aphorism nearly told her how incredibly stupid that would be, but reconsidered. It did, in fact, sound like something Zombie Chow might do. He raised his estimate of her slightly, designating her as the smart one of the bunch.

“Fine. You take his feet.” Aphorism slung the duffle across his back and bent down to slide his hands under the man’s shoulders. “Many hands make light work.”

Zombie Chow came up easily when they lifted him, and Aphorism led his little group toward the glowing exit sign. They followed along dutifully, the more composed ones ushering on the others, but all of them keeping a subdued distance from Aphorism and Smart One.

Aphorism dropped his end when they made it to the top of the steps leading up to the door.

“Hey, you. Open that door next to you.”

“Why?” asked Smart One, while the woman Aphorism had pointed at dithered nervously in the hallway.

“So she can shut it.” Aphorism mustered up the tattered shreds of what little patience he had. “Most places keep roof access doors locked. I want to open it, which will be easier if she shuts that door over there.”

The woman opened the door a couple inches, looked at him uncertainly, and pushed it shut when he nodded encouragingly.

“When one door closes, another door opens.”

There was a click as the roof door unlocked, and swung open. Aphorism picked Zombie Chow back up and climbed the rest of the stairs up into the daylight.

There was a stiff breeze carrying an unpleasant odor and the chirping wail of sirens. An indistinct moaning was coming from close by, and sporadic screams and gunfire from farther away.

Aphorism led Smart One to the middle of the roof before dropping Zombie Chow again, figuring it was the place where he was least likely to cause trouble. Then he went and looked over the edge.

The zombies were swarming around the base of the bank, and most of the buildings along the street. It was an impressive horde, especially for how quickly it had arisen. Aphorism wondered who had done it. Captain Death was probably the best necromancer in the city, but there were some other well-known ones in the region who could raise that many undead that fast. And then there was the mad scientist scene, which Aphorism didn’t know as well, and the sometimes-overlapping military R&D labs, which everyone was shaky on.

Whoever had done it, he hoped they couldn’t fight off Captain Death’s magic. He’d planned on leaving the bank in under two minutes, and here he was stuck with eight civilians until it was safe for him to get down to the street and make his getaway. It was annoying, and boring, and if it lasted much longer than 30 minutes he would have to think of a way to hide the restraints vanishing. The last thing he wanted was witnesses who could pin down the time limit on the things he manifested. 

He eyed the group. The stunned-looking ones were huddled against the boxy structure housing the door, with two others hovering over them. A man was putting a folded-up coat under Zombie Chow’s head, and Smart One was looking down over the back wall of the bank.

“I’m calling home,” one of the hoverers announced. He looked at Aphorism stubbornly. “My partner worries.”

“Yeah, fine. Go ahead.” It wasn’t like any of them calling the police was a real danger anymore, so Aphorism didn’t see the harm in letting them occupy themselves. “Call whoever you want.”

There was a flurry of hands reaching into pockets, and one of the huddlers even perked up enough to pull out her phone when she saw what was happening.

Aphorism took advantage of their distraction to walk around the edge of the building and check out the escape routes. He’d intended to come out the main door, swerve into the alley to the left and follow it to the next street over, then race down a few blocks to get a lead before zigzagging for a bit and then going to ground as an ordinary civilian. The alley was still clear aside from the zombies and there was a fire escape he could use, but he couldn’t tell if there were blockages further along his planned route.

He was debating changing the plan entirely when a worrying phrase cut through the babble in the background.

“Yes, I can see you now.” It was the stubborn one, and it sounded like he thought he was talking quietly. “Go to the left—no, your left. That’s better.”

Aphorism followed his line of sight, off into the empty sky. This was the one who had said the Amazing Protectors would save them, Aphorism realized queasily. He stared harder, and saw a tiny ripple at the edge of a cloud, like a heat wave rising through the air. That, or one of the force shields Mr. Amazing could make.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Aphorism said quietly, but with feeling. The Protectors really _were_ coming.

Aphorism checked on the zombies. They were still shuffling around the buildings. He could make it past some of them, but with them lining the streets he’d be heading straight into more.

“Come _on_ , Captain,” he muttered, glancing back up at the sky. The shimmer was hard to spot, but he thought it might be getting bigger already.

He was trying to decide between prison time and risking the zombies for long enough to find a bolt hole when the moaning stopped. It happened all at once, like someone had hit mute, and he didn’t hesitate. He swung himself over the edge of the building and onto the fire escape platform.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride!”

He skidded onto the drop-down ladder, and it started to slide. He scrambled down it as fast as he could, barely hearing the zombies begin chanting Captain Death’s name.

Aphorism spared a thought for the zip ties and gag, letting them vanish into nothingness. Freeing Zombie Chow could only add more confusion to whatever was happening on the roof, and the more chaotic it was, the less likely the Amazing Protectors were to chase after him.

The horse—as bright copper as a new penny—stood still as he jammed his foot into the stirrup and mounted, and took off like a shot as soon as he settled into the saddle.

“Fortune favors the bold,” he panted, which was usually only good for getting him a good roll of the dice or holding a yellow through an intersection, but the other saying about beggars was that they couldn’t be choosers.

They came out of the alley fast, the horse slowing only enough to keep them upright as they came around the corner.

The street was clear. There was no traffic, and no crashed or abandoned cars blocking the way. The zombies had been gathering around the buildings, and most of them stayed on the sidewalks as they marched towards Captain Death. Aphorism couldn’t have asked for a clearer road.

A little extra luck was a beautiful thing.

Aphorism galloped down the empty street, his horse leaping forward in long, eager strides and the duffle bag of cash thumping against his back with each one of them. He got the money and nobody got hurt, and for a job interrupted by a zombie plague, that wasn't half bad.

The zombies were still chanting as they shambled past, but the clatter of the horse’s hoofbeats ringing out sharp and echoing off the buildings was too loud, and all he could hear was the sound of his getaway.


End file.
